


Goodnight

by Ishipbadasschicks (Awal)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Also fluff, Angst to comfort, Clarke and lexa being cute, Commander Heart Eyes, F/F, Fuck jrot, Graphic dreams, Heda, Nightmares, No bullet proof vests needed, Noone dies, There are no guns, hurt comfort, violent dreams, wanheda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 04:03:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6549934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awal/pseuds/Ishipbadasschicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Lexa has nightmares.<br/>Sometimes Clarke does.<br/>Having someone to wake up to softens the experience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodnight

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt from my brodie Tangledinprose
> 
> This starts off dark. Trigger warning for the graphic violence in Lexas dreams. 
> 
> I can promise that it won't end dark.
> 
> I'm not jfuckward.

Lexa's mind is a labyrinth of horrors. Its passages are built of atrocities committed by her hand, in front of her eyes, and as a result of her words.

In her waking hours, she can navigate them with ease. She possesses a disassociation that is wholly based on intellect so she can rationalize every decision away.

When she is asleep, however, she loses control of which paths she travels. The walls migrate and twist and thrust her into areas constructed of fragments.

She is startled awake, her body slick with sweat, her heart beat hammering in her temples while she struggles to pull in enough oxygen to quell the burn behind her rib-cage.

On those nights she usually dreams about war. She is confronted with the splatters of red, the twists of lifeless limbs, the stench of rotting corpses and smokey must.

Voices follow her and screams pierce her as she makes her way across the scorch of decimated earth.

Embers fall from the sky like snow and she can taste their agony in every breath.

Her dreams of war are vivid enough to cause a visceral reaction but they are the easiest to recover from. Consciously she knows that even in the best of circumstances sacrifices have to made for the greater good.

_So she has no regrets._

The nights she dreams of Costia, Anya, and Gustus are now few and far between. Sometimes Anya is beheaded, Costia stabbed through the heart, Gustus mowed down by bullets. Sometimes they are all merged into one being that Lexa has to slay to ensure peace.

When these dreams come Lexa no longer closes her eyes against their deaths, no longer hesitates to slay them with her own hands. These losses were battles waged within herself, and after the war was won Lexa forged their deaths into a lesson--into a weapon.

_She will never forget._

Lexa dreams about Clarke frequently. They stand on opposite sides of the battle field outside of mount weather, cold drying on their lips, steam exiting their lungs as Lexa delivers the lines that break Clarke's heart over and over again.

Eventually, Lexa can pinpoint the moment when Clarke's confusion fades into disbelief, the denial in the almost imperceptible shake of her head, the grief in the immediate pool of tears.

With the smallest tremble of her lips, and the deepest furrow of her brows, the person Clarke used to be dies.

Suddenly Lexa is watching an imitation of herself, one not constructed by her mind, but crafted from her own hands-- Clarke hardens her features, her eyes turn cold and she lifts her jaw in a defiant rage.

The mountain will fall at her hands. She will be reborn through blood.

Lexa is rocked by what she's done-- She is the creator of Wanheda.

_She made the right decision, But it's one she wishes she could regret._

For the first time in months, Lexa has a new dream, one so vivid she can't be sure she's asleep. Clarke screams for her, and the sound is so terrifyingly raw that Lexa is out of her room and running before she hears the second syllable of her name.

The hallway spasms with her footfalls, delicate cracks creeping from beneath her heels and spidering the walls. She doesn't slow her pace until she is crashing into Clarke's room frantically.

The weight in her stomach renders her useless as she freezes, entering the room just time to see Clarke gasp her final breath, to see her eyes cloud and the light behind them extinguish.

When Clarke's body flops to the floor limp, Lexa's soul is violently wrenched from her chest with a wail she didn't know humans were capable of making.

Lexa's own scream wakes her up.

She blinks away the images from her nightmare, but the adrenaline pumping through her circulatory system keeps her limbs trembling, keeps her ears primed and her muscles clenched and ready to spring.

It takes several minutes for the pain to ebb. For her to stop feeling as if her spine had been ripped from her body through her stomach.

It's not as much a decision but a compulsion that drives her to check on Clarke.

**

The guards stationed outside of the skai girls room don't bat an eye as Lexa floats passed them in her nightgown. She enters the room silently, bare feet padding softly on the cold ground, dagger clenched in her fist.

Clarke's room differs from Lexa's dream enough to put her mildly at ease. Clarke's room has personal touches--art supplies strewn about, a stack of paper and a neat line of books. Her dresser is lined with beads and feathers to be weaved into her hair, jars of fruit scented soaps and oils, and even a few wood carvings.

Clarke's boots are on their sides laying in the middle of the room, her jacket is haphazardly tossed over a chair in a messy display of ownership.

Lexa is glad the space feels warmly personal and lived in.

She circles the footboard to get close enough to see Clarke's sleeping frame. Clarke is laying on her side, the blankets pulled up to her shoulder so the only thing Lexa can make out beneath the mask of blonde hair and gray fur is Clarke's nose and a portion of her cheek.

The scene brings a small smile to Lexa’s lips as she goes to curl into the sofa in Clarke's sitting area. She allows herself to exhale and be comforted by the steady rise and fall of Clarke's chest.

Lexa counts the time between Clarke's breathes and lets the rhythm ease away the remaining panic from her nightmare.

**

When Lexa wakes up the first thing she notices is that she is sitting semi upright. The second, there is fur covering her and trapping in her body’s warmth.

She opens her eyes to Clarke sitting in the adjacent chair wrapped in fur, her feet pulled underneath her.

She's been there for a while, Lexa summarizes as she meets Clarke's gaze.

Lexa is unsure of what to do or say, how to explain, or how to apologize for this invasion of space.

They stare at each other in silence for a few minutes.

There is no inquiry in Clarke's eyes, no demand for an explanation on her features, Lexa swallows the emotion curdling from the knowledge that Clarke understands.

With Clarke still looking at her, the tension drains from Lexa's body and she closes her eyes again.

They sit that way for minutes or hours, she's not sure. But they don't move until they are interrupted by a servant bringing them breakfast.

**

The next night when Lexa gasps awake from a compilation of the battlefields in TonDC and Mount weather she shoots up in bed. Her chest is sore from the acrobatics of her heart and she strains to pull in deep gulping breaths.

As she is forcing herself to calm down, analyzing the images for any rationale there is movement in her peripheral.

She doesn't have time to reach for her dagger before Clarke comes into view, fur wrapped around her shoulders as she pads silently to the side of Lexa's bed and climbs in.

Clarke lays back on a pillow and with a purposeful look implores Lexa to do the same.

Lexa lays back stiffly, eyes blinking too often, her chest rising and falling too quickly.

Clarke's hand finds hers in the dark room. Lexa latches on, clutching her hand entirely too hard, but Clarke's thumb just strokes her hand soothingly.

Lexa doesn't remember falling asleep.

**

The next night Lexa dreams of killing Gustus.

She wakes with the feel of the sword in her hand, the memory of the blades weight as it pushed through his beating heart. She doesn't feel particularly well rested, but being unconscious for the entire night is an accomplishment in itself.

When she stretches and turns over in bed she is startled to find Clarke sleeping at her side.

Lexa stays in bed for an extra two hours just to study Clarke's face and curb the impulse to run her fingers over Clarke's skin.

**

On the third night, Lexa gets a brief reprieve from her dreams. She sleeps almost four uninterrupted hours before she wakes in the middle of the night rested. When she turns over in bed Clarke is there, awake.

This is the first night that Clarke moves from just hand holding to alternating between stroking Lexa's forearm, wrapping her hand around her slim wrist, and playing with her long fingers.

Lexa craves her touch so desperately she is almost afraid to breathe in fear of breaking the moment.

She doesn't return Clarke's caresses, instead focusing on laying still and keeping her hand from trembling.

“I kill you at the mountain,” Clarke says softly.

Lexa's hand flexes briefly around Clarke's.

“I watch your skin char and fall off in pieces, but your eyes never leave mine--”

Clarke's gaze tilts and Lexa can feel it on the side of her face but she can't meet it, not right now.

“Sometimes the missile hits you at TonDC” Clarke continues, “Sometimes I can hear your screams as your tent is engulfed in flames”

Clarke gives a small tug on Lexa's hand, and Lexa obligingly turns on her side to face her.

“I don't know what it is about you and fire,” Clarke says with a rueful smile, “It may have something to do with all of these damn candles.”

A smile pulls at Lexa's mouth. How Clarke can turn something so horrible into a relaxing and joking conversation is beyond her.

They stare into each other's eyes, Clarke stroking Lexa's hand and arm until they fall asleep.

**  
_What happens when you dream of me?_

“You die,” Lexa confesses the next evening.

“How?” Clarke implores softly.

“I don't know. I'm only there to witness your final breath.”

Clarke nods,“You kill me.” she says confidently.

Lexa attempts to slide her hand from Clarke's grasp.

“No,” Clarke says, holding firmly. “That's not-- On the ark, we were told that dreams exist to help you process things in your daily life. Everything in your dream is supposed to be a representation of yourself, and everyone is a part of you.”

Lexa relaxes into her grasp, and Clarke returns to gently playing with her fingers.

“Me dying-- You killing me in your dreams means you're killing a part of yourself, Something I represent that you want to purge or protect-- You have to figure it out so you can sleep more. You can't be expected to lead well when you're always exhausted.”

Lexa has to consider how guarded to be with her response, what thoughts she will let herself have while figuring out what this particular dream means.

“And these fires that I die in? What purpose do they hold for you?”

“You represent fortitude.” Clarke says strongly, “You do what needs to be done unwaveringly. You're the part of me that would do anything to protect my people. And the fire-- that passion, it's what kills us in the end.”

Lexa swallows. She'd already considered that dreaming of Clarke's death was her minds way of trying to purge itself of weakness.

In her unconscious state she is helpless, never able to save or protect Clarke, only arriving in time to be emotionally compromised.

She now knows that's because it is too late. Lexa is already compromised, already in love, in awe of the woman before her. And it is entirely possible that this passion will burn her alive.

“I think you may be right,” Lexa says shakily, she swallows harshly and looks imploringly into Clarke's eyes.

“Clarke--”

“I know,” Clarke says with a small smile.

They lay together in silence until sleep once again claims them.

**

It becomes a habit that they stay up talking when their dreams wake them in the middle of the night.

They hold hands and lay on their sides to face each other and bask in the company and the comfort the others presence brings.

Sometimes Lexa has nightmares, sometimes Clarke does, but having someone to wake up to softens the experience.

They are laying in silence, fingers intertwined when Clarke closes the small distance between them and presses their lips together.

Lexa's breath shatters and a sharp throb hits her stomach and sinks down into her pelvis.

Clarke presses their lips together again softly, one of her hands coming up to Lexa's neck and pulling her in to increase the pressure.

Lexa licks Clarke's lip and pushes forward to suck on her bottom lip.

Clarke rewards her with a soft moan that has Lexa trembling with overwhelming desire.

The feeling must be mutual because Clarke's hand falls to the small of her back and she urges Lexa closer.

When their bodies press together for the first time, breast to breast, hip to hip, pelvis to pelvis, they simultaneously break the kiss so they can lose their breath properly.

Clarke slides a leg between Lexa's thighs, and her mouth falls to her jaw and neck. Clarke drags her teeth across the soft flesh there, soothing with her tongue and moderate sucking kisses.

Clarke's hands slide under Lexa's shirt and her palms brush against the quivering flesh of Lexa's stomach.

Lexa releases her first whimper, and Clarke rocks into her with an answering moan.

Clarke pushes herself up on her elbow, pivoting her hips and pushing Lexa onto her back.

Clarke lays her weight on top of Lexa for just a moment before she has Lexa's shirt bunched in her hands, and Lexa has to arch her back so she can remove it completely.

**

Lexa dreams of Gustus. She personally knots the rough rope that secures him to the tree he will die on.

He looks directly at her as the clans warriors take turns slicing into his flesh, separating skin and puncturing the muscles beneath.

When it's Lexa's turn to inflict the final blow, Gustus gives her a resolute nod.

Lexa clenches her teeth, hardens her jaw, and with a raised head she unsheathes her sword.

A hand touches her elbow, and before she turns she knows it's Clarke-- determination on her face, compassion in her eyes.

“Allow me, Heda?”

To their audience, It sounds like a question, An appeal.

Clarke's strong grip and her deep eyes betray her, _I'm not letting you do this._

Gustus almost caused the death of Raven along with Lexa, his crime is equally against both of their people.

Heda allowing this is justifiable.

Clarke's grip on her elbow eases with Lexa’s nod of consent.

Clarke grasps Lexa’s sword and steps forward.

“Thank you,” Gustus says sincerely.

Clarke gives him an empathetic nod, “Yu gonplei ste odon.“

Clarke eases the blade into his chest with one fluid Jerk And his body slouches forward lifeless.

Lexa wakes up with tears on her face and a shudder in her breath.

Clarke's hand slides up and down her naked back soothingly.

Lexa curls further into the warm embrace.

“You're okay,” Clarke says softly.

“I know.” She exhales, pressing her face into the hollow of Clarke's neck.

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think?? 
> 
> And come say hi on tumblr: IshipBadAssChicks


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